Two strangers in one big bed

The bed was more comfortable than Harry had expected, the mattress firm but yielding in all the right places as he climbed under the covers and settled against the pillows. He'd left the bedside lamp on, casting a warm glow across the room that made everything feel softer and more intimate. His body was screaming for sleep—every muscle ached with exhaustion, his eyes burned from too many hours without proper rest, and his brain felt foggy and slow. But despite all that, his cock was still half-hard in his boxer briefs, a persistent reminder of Samantha's proximity in the next room.

He could hear her finishing up in the kitchen, the water running as she washed her hands, cupboards opening and closing. Then footsteps in the hallway, soft and hesitant, stopping outside the bedroom door.

A gentle knock made Harry turn his head toward the sound. "Yeah?"

The door opened wider and Samantha stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light. She'd taken her hair down from the ponytail, and it fell around her shoulders in soft waves that made her look younger and somehow more ****. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"Can I come in?" she asked. "Or do you need privacy to sleep?"

"Come in," Harry said immediately, pulling the covers up to his waist and crossing his arms over his chest in a posture that was probably more defensive than he intended. "I'm decent. Mostly."

Samantha entered the room and closed the door behind her, and suddenly the space felt much smaller despite the king-sized bed. She approached cautiously, like she was approaching a skittish animal, and Harry watched her eyes take in the scene—him shirtless in bed, the covers pulled to his waist, his light brown hair sticking up from being rubbed against the pillow.

"I thought maybe we could talk for a bit?" Samantha suggested, stopping beside the bed. "If you're not too tired. Just about, you know, expectations. Ground rules. Whatever."

"Yeah, that's probably smart," Harry agreed, though the irony wasn't lost on him that they were having this conversation after he'd already moved in and they were about to share a bed. "Do you want to..." He gestured vaguely at the empty space beside him.

Samantha nodded and kicked off her shoes before climbing onto the bed. But instead of getting under the covers with him, she sat on top of them, positioning herself beside him with her back against the headboard and her knees pulled up to her chest. The position was defensive, protective, and it made Harry's chest ache with understanding—she was just as nervous as he was.

They sat like that for a moment in silence, not quite looking at each other. Harry was acutely aware of her warmth through the covers, could feel the mattress dip slightly under her weight. His right arm was inches from her hip, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her.

"So," Samantha said finally. "This is weird, right?"

"Massively weird," Harry agreed. "I've never lived with a woman before. Well, except my mum, but that doesn't count."

"I had a roommate in college but we mostly avoided each other," Samantha said. "And I've definitely never shared a bed with someone. Like, to actually sleep. I've never even had a sleepover with a guy."

The admission hung in the air between them, and Harry processed what she was saying—or rather, what she was implying. She'd never shared a bed with a man. Never spent the night with someone. Which meant she probably hadn't—

"I'm a virgin," Samantha said, the words coming out in a rush like she needed to get them out before she lost her nerve. "I assume Dr. Genet told you? Or maybe you guessed? I don't know, but I wanted to say it out loud so there's no confusion or expectations or—"

"Sam," Harry interrupted gently. "I know. I'm a virgin too."

She turned to look at him properly for the first time since entering the room, her dark green eyes wide with surprise. "Really?"

"Really," Harry confirmed. "Twenty-six and never... yeah. So we're in the same boat on that front."

"That's actually kind of a relief," Samantha admitted, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "I was worried you'd be experienced and I'd be the only one fumbling around like an idiot when we eventually—if we eventually—" She stopped, her face flushing pink. "I'm getting ahead of myself."

"Are you?" Harry asked, genuine curiosity in his voice. "Getting ahead of yourself, I mean. We're living together, sharing a bed, genetically matched by a scientist who thinks we're perfect for each other. It seems like the 'eventually' is pretty much guaranteed at some point."

Samantha hugged her knees tighter. "I guess. But I don't want to rush it. I want to do this right, whatever this is between us. It feels too important to fuck up by moving too fast."

"I completely agree," Harry said, and he meant it despite his body's insistent interest in moving things along immediately. "We should take our time. Get to know each other properly. Date, even, which sounds mental when we're already living together, but still."

"Date," Samantha repeated, testing the word. "We could do that. Go to dinner, see movies, do normal couple things. Except we're not a couple yet."

"Aren't we?" Harry asked. "I mean, what do you call two people who are living together and wildly attracted to each other?"

Samantha's breath caught at the last part. "You're attracted to me?"

"Catastrophically," Harry admitted. "Have been since Paris. Probably would have jumped you in that café if I wasn't terrified of making an arse of myself."

"I wanted you to jump me in that café," Samantha said with a breathless laugh. "I had to sit on my hands to keep from reaching across the table and—" She stopped herself again, biting her lip.

The tension in the room had shifted, becoming charged with the acknowledgment of their mutual attraction. Harry's cock was fully hard now beneath the covers, and he was grateful for the fabric barrier hiding his obvious arousal. Samantha's nipples were visible through her sweater again, pressing against the fabric in a way that made his mouth go dry.

"We should establish boundaries," Samantha said, her voice slightly rough. "Like, what's okay and what's not okay. So we don't accidentally cross lines we're not ready to cross."

"Smart," Harry agreed, though his brain was having trouble focusing on anything besides the curve of her lips. "What did you have in mind?"

"Hugging is okay," Samantha said immediately. "We already did that in Paris and I'd really like to do it again. And kissing. I want to kiss you. A lot. But maybe nothing beyond that for now? Until we're both ready?"

He nodded, his eyes glancing quickly at her quivering lips. They lay like that side by side, facing each other in the soft lamplight. Harry's arms had uncrossed at some point, one hand resting on his stomach and the other on the mattress between them. Samantha mirrored his position, her hand just inches from his, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

"What are you most afraid of?" Samantha asked quietly. "About all this."

Harry thought about the question seriously. "That I'll disappoint you. That the science will be wrong and we won't actually be compatible in the ways that matter. That I'll be shit at sex and you'll regret choosing this. What about you?" Harry asked.

"Same things, basically," Samantha admitted. "Plus I'm terrified that you'll wake up one day and realize you moved across an ocean for a woman with no tits and no curves who can't even cook properly."

"That's bollocks," Harry said immediately. "You're beautiful, Sam. Your body is perfect. And your cooking is brilliant."

"You're just saying that because you're genetically programmed to like me."

"I'm saying it because it's true," Harry insisted. "The genetics just helped us find each other. Everything else feels so real to me."

Samantha's hand moved those final inches, her fingers finding his and threading through them. The contact sent that familiar electric sensation through Harry's body, and he squeezed her hand gently in response.

"This is nice," Samantha whispered. "Just lying here talking. I was so nervous about tonight but this is actually really nice."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, his exhaustion finally catching up with him in a wave that made his eyelids feel impossibly heavy. "Really nice."

Harry floated in that strange space between waking and sleeping, aware of Samantha's presence beside him but unable to fully focus on anything except the warm weight of her hand in his. His body felt heavy and relaxed, sinking into the mattress, but some part of his brain remained conscious—cataloging the sensation of her fingers threaded through his, the sound of her breathing, the faint scent of her vanilla perfume mixing with the clean smell of the sheets.

He felt Samantha shift beside him, heard the rustle of fabric as she moved. Their hands separated briefly, and Harry made a small sound of protest that he wasn't quite aware of making. But then her touch returned—not on his hand this time, but on the covers near his chest, her finger tracing a line along the edge where the white fabric met his bare skin.

"I'm not going anywhere yet," Samantha assured him, her thumb stroking across his knuckles where their hands were joined on his chest. "I'm right here."

Harry's eyes opened again, focusing on her face with effort. She was so close—just inches away, her lips slightly parted, her gaze fixed on his mouth. He could see the pulse racing at her throat, could feel the tremor in her hand beneath his. His body was waking up despite his exhaustion, responding to her proximity with urgent need.

"Sam," Harry said, and her name came out rough and wanting.

"Yeah?" she whispered.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question hung in the air between them for a heartbeat, and then Samantha was nodding, already leaning closer. "Please."

Harry lifted his head from the pillow, closing the small distance between them, and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle at first—questioning, careful, like they were both afraid of breaking something fragile. Samantha's lips were soft and warm, tasting faintly of toothpaste, and Harry felt something in his chest crack open at the contact.

Then Samantha made a small sound in the back of her throat and kissed him harder, her free hand coming up to cup his jaw. Harry responded immediately, his exhaustion forgotten as his mouth opened under hers. Her tongue touched his tentatively, and he groaned at the sensation, his hand tightening over hers where it still rested on his chest.

The kiss deepened, becoming less careful and more ****. Samantha shifted closer, and Harry felt the covers between them like a frustrating barrier. He wanted to feel her body against his, wanted to pull her down on top of him and lose himself in her warmth. His cock was fully hard now, straining against his boxer briefs in a way that was going to be embarrassingly obvious when they finally broke apart.

Samantha's fingers threaded into his hair, gripping gently, and Harry's hand slid from her chest to her waist, finding the curve of her hip through her sweater. She was small and firm beneath his palm, all lean muscle and bone, and he wanted to explore every inch of her. Wanted to strip away the layers between them and finally know what she felt like skin to skin.

But his body was betraying him—exhaustion pulling at him even as arousal made his pulse race. His kiss became slower, less coordinated, and he felt Samantha notice. She gentled the kiss, pulling back slightly until they were just breathing against each other's mouths.

"You're falling asleep," Samantha murmured, and there was affection in her voice rather than disappointment.

"Don't wanna," Harry protested, but his eyes were already closing again.

"I know," Samantha said, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "But you need to rest. We have all the time in the world for this."

She pulled back, and Harry's hand fell from her hip to the mattress between them. He could feel her moving, sitting up, and he **** his eyes open one more time. Samantha was looking down at him with an expression that made his chest ache—tender and wanting and patient all at once.

"I'll be in the living room," she said, brushing his hair back from his forehead in a gesture that felt impossibly intimate. "Watching TV until I'm ready for bed. You sleep."

"'Kay," Harry mumbled. "But Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"That was..." He trailed off, not sure how to finish.

"Yeah," Samantha agreed softly. "It really was."